I love reading and writing, and I instinctively prefer reading non-fiction — from delving into the history of different cultures to getting under the skin of people’s journeys across the world to recipes! All of my blogs are non-fiction, too. At the same time, I love learning creative ways to do things to stretch my imagination, so I’ve been on a creative writing course at London Met, and this is my first attempt at the start of a fictional story…
A tale of two votes
It was love at first sight, she thought. They had met while queuing up for Greek souvlaki at the bustling West Norwood Feast, a popular summer event back in the summer of 2016: chilli sauce for Dave and veggie for Flora. The cook had got the orders wrong and given her the spicy version and him the non-meat version.
He found the wrap relatively bland, and she… well…she had gone as red as the chillies in the souvlaki and collapsed. Just behind her, he picked her up and asked if she was OK.
…She could barely breathe! He gazed at her longingly, his heart racing with the intensity of his feelings, visualising them holding hands and walking around the park with a couple of children in tow and a dog. She looked up at him, her heart pounding, imagining a knight in shining armour saving her from the devil that was a malagueta chilli.
As they both looked at each other, their hearts pumping, an off-duty nurse — Malia, stopped mid-song from the gospel choir she was singing in and rushed to the rescue of Flora. After giving her anti-histamine tablets and lots of water, Malia reassured Flora, “Those malaguetas are killers, and I know…they come from the same country I’m from”.
Flora, back to her senses, perked up. “Where are you from?” Cap Verde, Malia responded. “but I’m from the NHS”. Flora laughed. “Well then, you’ve won the jackpot; you’ll be getting £350m a week due to Brexit!” Malia laughed. Flora retorted, “Only idiots who voted Brexit believe that“, and looked charmingly at Dave. Dave looked back with dagger eyes, muttered, “Yeah…only idiots”, and walked off with his head down. He’d had enough of Remoaners belittling him and his people. He couldn’t recognise his country anymore. It was time to escape, maybe exile to the Costa del Sol.
